What's Up Doctor?
by Gary Merchant
Summary: The Doctor and Evelyn's stay at a plush hotel is interrupted by the arrival of a certain time travelling adventuress.


WHAT'S UP DOC(TOR)?

"Well, Evelyn. What do you think?"

Evelyn Smythe took in the splendour of the Galactica Hotel. "It's certainly very grand," she agreed. "Just refresh my memory – why are we here, on Earth, in the year 2260?"

"To meet the eminent Professor Zarchov," the Doctor replied. "He's very well known in his field."

"Which is?"

"Oh, didn't I mention?" A shake of the head from Evelyn answered that question. "Well, he developed a process to eliminate the Scarg virus."

Evelyn glanced at him. "And that's good, is it?"

"Good? Good?" The Doctor stared amazed at her. "Evelyn, in your time period, Scarg would be comparable against the common cold."

Evelyn was impressed. "So this Zarchov chap is a doctor of some sort?"

"He used to be," the Doctor told her. "Now he's more of a philanthropist, really. As well as doing his bit to find a cure, Zarchov provided the money to allow the much needed research to go ahead. Without that, your planet would be in a less than healthy state. Now, let's go and check in, shall we?"

The interior of the hotel was just as sumptuous. Very palatial, Evelyn thought. "So why are we here, specifically?"

"Does there have to be an ulterior motive?" The Doctor seemed hurt. "I just thought it'd be nice for us to take a breather from our travels, spend a few days in a rather grand hotel, and…"

"And ingratiate yourself with the locals," Evelyn finished for him. "Honestly, Doctor. You're like a big kid sometimes."

The Doctor grinned. "Well, it doesn't hurt to massage a few egos once in a while."

They had arrived at the reception desk. The hotel clerk turned at the sound of the bell. "Yes, sir?"

"Ah, Maurice. You're still here, then?"

"Evidently, sir. It's good to have you with us again." Maurice smiled. "Your usual rooms are ready for you." He handed over their room keys.

"Thank you so much." The Doctor hefted up a red travelling bag. "While I'm staying in your wonderful hotel, I wonder if you might put this in your safe?"

"That shouldn't be a problem, sir," the clerk assured him, taking the bag.

Evelyn was immediately suspicious. "In all the time I've known you, you've never carried hand luggage of any description. What's in that bag? And how often have you been here?"

"All in good time, Professor Smythe," the Doctor said mysteriously. "Now, you go up and get settled. I've one or two things to sort out here first."

She smiled. "Aye aye, captain."

As he watched her go, the Doctor noticed the clerk leaning toward him. "I don't know if you're aware, sir," he said quietly, "but there's a… woman attempting to attract your attention."

The Doctor was about to ask who, when he heard the unmistakable voice some distance behind him. His face took on a pained look. "Is she wearing a shawl, with a voluminous frock and what might loosely be termed a hat?"

"I'm afraid so, sir."

"Iris Wildthyme," the Doctor sighed, without turning. "The bane of my life."

The clerk sympathised. "We have a private elevator for use in such circumstances, if you wish to avoid the lady, sir."

"That would be very much appreciated, Maurice," the Doctor replied gratefully. "If only there was some kind of distraction…"

The clerk looked around, and smiled. "I think that can be arranged."

Out of the corner of his eye, the Doctor could see a luggage attendant wheeling a trolley of luggage past his line of vision. Then he saw the clerk give a discreet nod to the attendant. In the next moment the sound of tumbling luggage could be heard, alongside the yelps and protests of the lady in question.

Taking his cue from the clerk, the Doctor took advantage of the confusion and hurried to the open elevator, the attendant pressing the appropriate button. As the doors closed, the Doctor could see Iris attempting to extricate herself from the suitcases and travelling bags, while mingling hotel staff made convincing efforts to help her, without actually doing so. "I'll 'ave your flamin' 'eads f'this," she bellowed, as the closing elevator doors blocked out any further sounds.

In another part of the foyer, the hotel manager was observing Iris' non-display of tact. "What on Earth is she doing here?" he wondered. Sighing, he quickly arranged for Iris to be escorted out of the hotel, before she could do any more damage.

"That woman is not to be allowed back inside this hotel," he informed Maurice.

Maurice was already checking the register. "But, Miss Wildtyhme is one of our regular customers. She has already booked her room."

Cursing under his breath, and not wishing to make a scene, the manager quickly arranged for Iris to be escorted back into the hotel, with no word of explanation.

Once Iris had recovered her composure and her dignity, she strode up to the desk. "Excuse me luvvy, but which room is the Doctor staying in?"

The clerk shook his head. "I'm afraid I can't divulge that information, madam."

"But we're old friends," she insisted, about to look at the hotel register. "And we've got so much catching up to do."

The clerk quickly removed the register from the desk. "Be that as it may, this hotel has a reputation to uphold. And we do not give out guests' accommodation details without good reason."

Iris would have pressed the issue further, but decided against it. "All right. Can I leave some stuff in your safe, then?"

The clerk sighed. "What sort of 'stuff,' madam?"

"Just a few nick-nacks." Iris grabbed a travelling bag from the cases still being returned to the trolley. "Jewellery mostly. Nothing fancy."

The clerk took the bag, noting briefly that it was the same make, design and colour as the Doctor's. "You can be assured that your personal luggage will be safe here."

Iris grinned. "Y'mean safe in the safe? Oh, never mind," she said. "I was forgetting – humour isn't a strongpoint around here." She flounced off, the clerk sighing as she went.

As she went in search of the bar, Iris paid no attention to the man entering the hotel. His dark suit was well made, so that there was no discernable bulge from his shoulder holster. He also carried a red travelling bag.

By the time the Doctor had caught up with Evelyn, she had unpacked and was busy choosing what to wear for the reception that evening. Due to attend were various dignitaries and luminaries, as well as the aforementioned Professor Zarchov. "I must say, I'm looking forward to tonight. It's been a long time since I had an evening out like this."

The Doctor smiled. "You will be treated like royalty, Evelyn. I can promise you that."

"And no monsters?" she asked.

He shook his head. "No monsters – apart from the one I almost ran into downstairs," he said to himself.

The man with the sharp suit had booked a room under the name of Smith in advance of his arrival. Once inside, and with the door locked, he opened his travelling bag. Inside were top-secret dossiers on various people. Dossiers, which had been painstakingly gathered over many months. It would soon be time to make the information public. But not yet. There was still one more person he had to track down. He hadn't found him, but knew it was someone in this hotel.

But Mr Smith was reluctant to leave the bag in his room. If he was going to be effective, he needed to move around freely, while ensuring that the information so far accumulated could be left untouched. Returning the dossiers to the bag, Mr Smith took the elevator down to the foyer.

In the hotel bar, Iris was holding court with anyone who would listen. She hadn't drunk enough to make a scene, but she was nonetheless feeling very relaxed. She held out her empty glass to the barman. "Put another one in there, sweetheart, and Auntie Iris'll tell you the story of her long and glorious life."

Another hand reached out and took the glass from her. Outraged, she turned – to find the Doctor staring balefully at her. "No more drinks, Iris. I want to know why you're here."

"Ah, you're a lovely man, Doctor." She twirled her fingers around his curly hair. "Don't be such a killjoy."

"Iris, I mean it."

Through her semi drunken stupor, Iris caught the steel in the Doctor's eyes and let her mouth droop into a pout. "All right, Doctor. You win."

He sighed, relieved. "That's better."

"Just give us a kiss first," she said, lunging toward him.

Unseen by any of the hotel staff, the hotel safe had been opened. Inside were the three identical travelling bags – plus an extra one, with coloured tags to identify them. In a matter of moments the tags had been swapped around. Whoever called to reclaim their bag would undoubtedly receive the wrong one – which had been the intention of the unknown intruder.

After a few moments, Iris had calmed down, and was sitting quietly in a corner alcove of the bar, the Doctor administering copious amounts of black coffee. "Urgh! Do you 'ave to?" Iris complained.

"If I'm to get any sense out of you, yes," the Doctor replied. "Now, drink this – or perhaps I should leave you to the not so tender mercies of the management."

Iris tried to sit up straight, with only limited success. "I am a guest here, y'know."

"Then behave like one, not some navvy gasping for a first drink after months at sea." The Doctor liked Iris, though he was loath to admit it. He just wished she didn't make such a spectacle or herself. "Why can't you behave with some decorum, like these good people here?"

"Because there's one or two bad 'uns here, that's why." Iris slurped at her coffee. "That's why I'm here, Doctor. I'm on a mission."

"Iris, you're in no fit state to be on any sort of mission," the Doctor sighed. "And who are these 'bad 'uns' you're referring to?"

Iris' voice dropped to a whisper. "That's just it, I don't know." She pushed her cup away. "I heard on the grapevine about tonight's reception, which, if I'm right, leads on to a meeting at some Institute or other."

The Doctor couldn't fault Iris' information. "Professor Zarchov is holding a meeting at the Furnham Institute tomorrow, yes. What about it?"

"Well, that's the trouble. I don't know." Iris seemed to be regaining control of her faculties. "I had a lovely lad travelling with me for a while. Andy, his name was. Well, when he left, he promised to let me know if there was any trouble brewing that I might want to investigate. He was a good lad, in that way."

"And this Andy contacted you?"

"I only got a brief message," she explained. "To get down here to 2260, where something bad was going to happen. Andy was going to meet me to explain everything, only he never turned up." Tears began to show as Iris pulled out a handkerchief to wipe away the tears.

The Doctor recognised genuine concern from Iris, and began to realise why she had been drinking – to blot out a possible worse case scenario. "You think something might have happened to him?"

Iris shrugged helplessly. "I only wish I knew for certain. But it's not like young Andy to disappear like that."

The Doctor shared Iris' concern. Whenever the two of them met up, trouble was never very far away. Even if Iris wasn't the cause of it. Plus, Iris wasn't the type to seek sympathy through crying, and if there was something going on, it definitely needed investigating. "All right, Iris. Against my better judgement, I'll believe you."

"Oh, thank you, Doctor." The tears all but gone, Iris was now feeling more composed. "Now, if you could get me into that reception tonight…"

"Oh, no." The Doctor held up his hands. "That's a ticket-only event. And all tickets are taken. But after all that you've told me, I'll keep a sharp eye out for any trouble."

"Oh, come on, Doctor," Iris persisted. "It's not as if you're with anyone…"

"As a matter of fact, I am," the Doctor told her. "Her name is Evelyn Smythe."

Iris' jaw dropped. "Evelyn? What sort of a name is that?"

"A name belonging to a very good friend of mine," the Doctor replied. "Now, if you'll excuse me, Iris, I have to get ready for tonight. It's a 7.30 start." He caught Iris' sad face as he moved to leave. "I promise to keep my eyes peeled for any trouble, all right?"

She looked up at him. "Thanks for that at least, Doctor. You're a good 'un."

Iris watched him go, and sat back in her seat, dejected. "If only I could get into that reception hall tonight," she moaned. "Instead it'll be the Doctor and that Smythe woman – unless…" An idea began to take shape as Iris left her seat and hurried out of the bar to the front desk. With the clerk absent, Iris grabbed the hotel register, scanning its pages until she found Evelyn's name and room number. Then she picked up the desk telephone and dialled.

Evelyn turned at the sound of her telephone ringing and picked up the receiver. "Hello?"

The voice on the other end was garbled, but clear. "Miss Smythe?"

"Yes. Who is this?"

Iris pinched her nose to alter her voice. "This is Claudia, one of the organisers for the reception tonight. I just wanted to let you know that the start time had been put back one hour, so things will be kicking off at 8.30 instead of 7.30."

Evelyn seemed to accept this without question. "Oh. Well, thank you very much for telling me, Miss…?"

"Wildth… Wildman," Iris said quickly. "Natalie Wildman, Miss Smythe. Sorry for any inconvenience."

"That's quite all right, dear," came the reply. "But I thought you said your name was Claudia?"

Iris thought fast. "Well, it's Claudia-Natalie. One of those double barrelled names."

"I see." There were no further questions. "Well, thank you again. Good bye."

The telephone went dead, as Iris finally relaxed. "By 'eck, that were close. Now, with Miss Smythe out of the way, I just need to blag a ticket." With a spring in her step, the time travelling adventuress began to make plans.

Evelyn replaced the receiver thoughtfully. It had been a very strange call, as if the person on the other end were making it up as she went along. A knock at her door broke her train of thought. "Evelyn? Are you decent?"

She smiled. "Come in, Doctor. The door isn't locked."

The door opened and the Doctor peered in, as if to make sure. On seeing Evelyn, he smiled and walked in. "Sorry I've been so long. I had to look up an old acquaintance." The Doctor quickly explained about his meeting with Iris, and why she was staying at the hotel.

"And is she reliable, this Iris?" Evelyn asked. "She sounds like the wayward sort to me."

"I suppose she is," the Doctor replied, smiling. "But her hearts are in the right place."

Evelyn picked up on this. "You said 'hearts' – plural. Is she a Time Lord or something?"

"You could say that." The Doctor brushed the question aside. "It'd take far too long to explain properly. But the point is, she's certain that something's not quite right. And despite her shortcomings, I'm inclined to give her the benefit of the doubt."

"And she wanted you to get her into tonight's reception?"

"She was quite insistent about it." A look passed between the Doctor and Evelyn. "Why? What's wrong?"

Evelyn told him.

After her initial euphoria, Iris was beginning to despair. The Doctor had been correct, there were no spare tickets left. She didn't want to draw attention to herself by gate crashing the event, but there seemed no other option.

Then Iris came upon the notice board, and one particular notice relating to the reception. 'All name badges for tonight's reception are now ready for collection in the main foyer,' she read. "Now, that's more like it." Iris headed back to the hotel foyer, where a table had been placed just a short distance from the main desk. Iris strode up, noting that the name badges were already laid out on the table.

A steward was seated at the table. He looked up and smiled as Iris approached. "What name, madam?"

"Evelyn Smythe," Iris replied, without missing a beat.

"And can I see your invitation?"

Iris made a show of searching for it. "Oh blast. I know I had it with me when I left me room."

The steward was apologetic but firm. "Well, I can't really issue these out without seeing the invitation. If you'd care to come back later…"

Iris had an inspired idea. "Oh, now I remember. I gave mine to the Doctor for safekeeping."

"The Doctor?" This brought a smile of recognition. "Well, that's different. With the Doctor being an honoured guest, I don't really see that there's any problem." He handed Iris the name badge.

The Doctor was pacing the floor, fuming at Iris' attempt to trick Evelyn. "I might have known she'd try something like this."

Evelyn remained calm. "Well, you've got to admire her nerve. And anyway, there's no harm done. I still have my invitation card, so we should be fine."

The Doctor ceased his pacing, realising that Evelyn was absolutely right. "I suppose she can't do any real harm," he reasoned. "Even if she is so infuriating."

"Exactly. Now, I think we had better get ready for tonight."

The Doctor prepared to leave, but was doubtful. "Evelyn, are you sure you still want to go through with this?"

"Absolutely." Evelyn showed him out of her room, and caught his arm. "If half of what you've told me about Iris Wildthyme is true, then we're probably in for a lively evening."

"I know," the Doctor agreed. "And that's what I'm afraid of."

They met outside their respective rooms. Evelyn had selected a pale blue trouser suit, topped off with a glittery shoulder scarf. The Doctor had, for once, changed out of his usual attire and was now wearing a black dinner suit with matching bow tie. "Ready, Miss Smythe?"

"Whenever you are, Doctor." Smiling, Evelyn linked her arm through his, as they made their way to the elevator.

Mr Smith had elected to dine in the hotel restaurant. Seeing as he was being paid well for his work, he decided that he might as well make the most of the evening. He was about to order, when he saw someone at a nearby table, watching him, and raising a glass of wine in obvious recognition.

Mr Smith completed his order. As the waitress moved away, Smith's view of the other table was obscured as she walked past. When he looked again the table was empty. The man had gone, leaving Mr Smith unusually concerned.

The chandeliers that hung from the high ceiling were the first things to catch Evelyn's eye as she and the Doctor entered the reception hall. As she had assumed, her invitation card was accepted, and Evelyn was positively basking in the glory of the occasion. "It's like one of those film premieres one reads about in the newspapers," she said.

The Doctor smiled. "But this is much more fun. With actors, there are so many touchy egos floating around."

"And that doesn't apply here?"

"Perhaps," he admitted. "But on a much smaller scale. Ah." The Doctor nodded ahead of them. "There's our host, Professor Zarchov."

At the sound of his name, a small rotund man turned. "Ah, Doctor." His Germanic accent was brusque, but friendly. "I've just been hearing all about your adventures."

Returning Zarchov's handshake, the Doctor was puzzled. He was known here, yes. But no one here would be aware of his travels. "I'm not sure I follow."

Zarchov laughed good-naturedly. "There is no need to be so modest. Your friend Evie has been telling everyone all about you." Zarchov indicated a woman whose back was facing them, but appeared to be the centre of attention, regaling those in earshot about the Doctor's exploits.

"Oh, and that were a near thing, let me tell you, luvvy. If the Doctor hadn't found the right antidote, with help from me, of course, well, those poor little Imps would have had it. No word of a lie."

The Doctor looked at Evelyn. "What was it you said, about her not causing any harm?"

"I take it all back," Evelyn replied.

With Iris still in full flow, the Doctor slowly stepped up behind her. "Hello - Evie."

Iris turned to face him, a look of pleasure on her face. "Oh, and there he is, talk of the devil. Doctor, I've just been telling these lovely people…"

"In a moment," the Doctor interrupted, steering her toward Zarchov and Evelyn. "You see, Evie, myself and Evelyn were wondering where you'd got to."

At the mention of Evelyn's name, Iris' face paled as she turned to face her adopted namesake. "Erm… you made it then, Evelyn." She smiled at Zarchov. "I did wonder if my elder sister would be fit enough for tonight."

Evelyn almost spluttered into her drink. "Did she say…?"

With Zarchov listening in, Iris was forced to keep up the pretence. "Well, she rarely gets out these days, the poor love. But I'm glad you felt able to make the effort this time. Feeling better, luvvy?" It was to both their credit that Iris' hesitancy was barely noticeable, while Evelyn just about managed to hold her temper.

Zarchov was still curious. "But the name. Evelyn, Evie."

"Oh, there have been Evelyn's passed down through the family," Iris replied. "Though I think Evie has a better ring to it, don't you?"

Evelyn had had enough. "Elder sister indeed. If you're what I think you are - Evie, then you're not exactly in the first flush of youth yourself."

Iris' smile faltered for a moment. "You what?"

"Well, you know what they say about younger sisters," Evelyn remarked. "They've usually been around the block a few times."

Iris saw red. "You take that back! You're no spring chicken, you old bag!"

"Well, that's the pot calling the kettle black for a start," Evelyn rallied.

The Doctor, having stood on the sidelines all this time, at last stepped in. "Ladies, ladies, please. This is not the time or place for family squabbles." He put an arm around each of them, steering them away from the centre of the room.

The Doctor briefly looked back to Professor Zarchov, managing a weak smile. "Sorry about this. Sibling rivalry, you know."

The Doctor forced the two struggling women into a quiet corner. "Out of all the devastation and carnage I've seen," he bellowed, "it pales into nothing compared to the disgraceful behaviour of you two ladies – and I use the term advisedly."

Evelyn and Iris looked back at the Doctor, stunned into silence – for a moment. "She started it," Iris muttered.

"She took my name badge," Evelyn retorted

"She laid assertions against me," Iris bit back.

"Enough!" The two women fell silent. "It doesn't matter who started it," the Doctor insisted. "It ends here, right now."

For the second time that day, Iris had to apologise for her actions. "I'm sorry, Doctor, Evelyn. It won't happen again."

"It had better not. Evelyn?"

She stared at him. "You want me to…?"

The Doctor nodded. "You gave as good as you got, Miss Smythe."

"Well, if you put it that way…" She turned to Iris. "I sincerely apologise for my awful behaviour."

The Doctor finally let out a breath. "Well, now that that's out of the way, I suppose we ought to make our excuses and leave the reception."

"But, we can't do that, Doctor," Iris pleaded. "Not after I managed to butter up old Zarchov. I had him eating out of me hand before you turned up."

"Yes, I'm curious about that," said the Doctor. "Why did you go to such lengths to put me in such a glowing light?"

Iris lowered her voice. "To get you invited to the Furnham Institute for tomorrow, that's why."

"I'm not sure I understand," said the Doctor.

"I think I do." Evelyn studied the various luminaries in attendance. "This is a formal reception for all the great and the good, but Professor Zarchov strikes me as the sort of chap who would prefer to get to know people more socially. So tonight's get together is like a dress rehearsal for tomorrow, where he can choose who to invite."

"Got it in one, luvvy," Iris grinned. "Don't forget, Doctor. My Andy said something bad was going to happen, but he didn't say where. So if this isn't the place…"

"Then it has to be the Institute," the Doctor finished for her. "Well, perhaps we can butter up the Professor a bit more, eh ladies?"

It was a concerned Mr Smith who had left the restaurant and collected his travel bag from reception. As he made his way back to his room, he tried again to picture the face of the man he'd seen. But the stranger had been in shadow, and when questioned, none of the staff could remember him.

When unexpected factors like this entered Mr Smith's ordered world, he didn't like it. If it was something he could identify, then it could be dealt with. But it felt as if this stranger had the advantage, forcing Mr Smith onto the defensive. If only he knew what he was defending himself against.

He shook his head, in an attempt to put this to the back of his mind – for now. Back in his room, Mr Smith placed the bag on the bed, and opened it. He stared in shock and surprise at the contents. Where the dossiers should have been, there was instead a selection of paste jewellery and other assorted paraphernalia.

This was not good. Without those dossiers, Mr Smith was a dead man. Somehow he had to retrieve them. But how?

The rest of the reception proceeded without any further hiccups. The Doctor, Iris and Evelyn ingratiated themselves with various dignitaries and personalities, telling stories of their recent travels. But as the evening progressed, it was the Doctor and Iris – or Evie, as she was addressed, who were getting the most attention, as Evelyn began to feel more and more left out. The Doctor tried to include her in conversation, but Iris kept dragging him away, with Evelyn feeling more like a wallflower as the evening went on.

By the time the Doctor had managed to prise himself away from yet another group of stuffed shirts, Evelyn was nowhere to be seen.

"Well, that didn't go too bad, did it?" The reception had at last begun to wind down, with the Doctor and Iris making their excuses before leaving. Now, Iris was pouring the Doctor a welcome nightcap. "Here, get that down you."

"Hmm? Oh, thank you." The Doctor took the glass, but didn't drink from it. He was still in a sombre mood. When Evelyn had gone without a word, the Doctor realised how thoughtless he had been in not including her in the numerous dialogue

Iris caught the faraway look. "What's up, Doc?"

The Doctor turned to her. "I let Evelyn down."

Iris felt slightly guilty about excluding Evelyn from the other guests, while putting the Doctor in the best light possible. She tried to gloss over it. "Come on, Doctor," she sighed. "Your Evelyn's a grown woman. She can look after herself."

The Doctor looked from Iris to the window. "That's as maybe, but she's a good friend. And I don't like to see her hurt, whatever the reasons." Then he looked at Iris, and realised. "You engineered this, Iris Wildthyme."

"I don't know what you mean," she said innocently.

"You deliberately excluded Evelyn from most of the people we met tonight."

Iris sat down and tried to explain. "Look, tonight was all about you, Doctor. I know Evelyn's your best mate and all, but as far as old Zarchov was concerned, she wasn't the main draw. You were." She pressed on. "Didn't we make a success of tonight?"

The Doctor shrugged. "I suppose so." He half-smiled, sitting down next to her on the sofa. "It was a bit like old times, wasn't it?"

"Ay, you're goin' back a bit there, Doctor," Iris warned. "Not that we didn't have some good times."

Outside, snow was falling. "Look at that," the Doctor laughed. "Snow. And it's not even the right time of year." Just for a moment, the Doctor felt he ought to be somewhere else. Not here. Not in Iris' room.

But somewhere, music was playing – cue orchestra.

"Look, Iris. This is very nice, but…"

_I've got to go away_

_But luvvy, it's cold outside_

_I really can't stay_

_I know, but it's cold outside_

_Yes, well, this evening has been so very nice_

_Oh, look, your hands are just like ice_

_You see, people will start to worry/C'mon Doctor, what your hurry?_

_And Evelyn will be pacing the floor/She's the sort you ought to ignore_

_So forgive me if I seem in a hurry/Have a sip of this now, luvvy_

_Well, maybe just a moment more/You're the type of man I adore_

_The neighbours might think_

_Tell 'em it's cold outside_

_I say, what's in this drink?_

_No need to run and hide_

_I shouldn't be here, how can I make you see_

_Oh hush, y'don't have to pretend with me_

_I really should say no no/There really is no reason to go_

_Before I forget my pride/Snuggle up with me by the fire_

_I really can't stay/So you say_

_Oh, but it's cold… out… side_

It was morning when the Doctor woke. The last embers of the fire had burned out, and he was lying hunched up on the sofa, a blanket draped over him. He felt rather comfortable, and was about to snuggle back down, when he remembered the events of the previous evening, and sat bolt upright, his face white with shock. Had he…?

Glancing down, the Doctor was relieved to see that, apart from his bow tie having been loosened, he was still fully clothed. His jacket was draped over a chair. The same chair on which Iris' shawl had been left, and knew that he was not alone – Iris would never go anywhere without that shawl. "Are y'decent?" She trilled, from the bathroom.

The Doctor cleared his throat before answering. "Um, Iris? I have to go. Things to do, you understand?" He stood up, reaching for his jacket.

"Oh, there's no need to rush off." Iris strolled out from the bathroom – fully clothed, of course. "You'll be wanting some breakfast before you dash off to old Zarchov."

This caught the Doctor mid-step. "Zarchov? What do you mean, Iris?"

"Well, this invite." She picked up an envelope from the table. "It came this morning, addressed to me. So I reckon you got the same thing too."

The Doctor snatched the envelope from her and opened the flap. The invitation card was unmistakable. "Professor Zarchov kindly requests the pleasure of your company at the Furnham Institute…" he scanned the rest. "Iris, you did it! I don't know how, but you swung it for me."

Iris smiled. "Well, that's not something I hear said to me every day."

The Doctor looked again at the invitation, and then at the wall clock. His expression changed from joy to dismay. "Iris, this invite is for 12.00 noon. It's almost 11.30am now."

"Ooh 'eck," Iris realised. "I thought I were doing you a favour, letting you sleep in after last night."

The Doctor was in no mood for idle banter. "We have just under half an hour to get to the institute. I'll need my travelling bag."

"Right, luvvy," Iris decided. "You get y'bag, and I'll run and sort some transport."

"Er, no." The Doctor paused. "Iris, could you get my bag as well? I've got to make some apologies first."

Iris rolled her eyes in despair. "Off you go, then. I'll see you outside in ten minutes."

"Oh, the wanderer returns." Evelyn stood in the doorway of her room, leaving the Doctor feeling rather exposed in the corridor.

"Evelyn, I'm sorry," he said. "I shouldn't have left you on your own like that."

"Except that you did, Doctor." Evelyn was not going to let him off the hook so easily. "For almost the whole evening that Iris woman monopolised you to the exclusion of everyone else. What is it about her? Just how well do you know her?"

"It's a long story," said the Doctor. "But to cut to the chase, I think I may have got an invitation to the Furnham Institute for 12.00 noon today."

"Oh." Evelyn held up an envelope in front of the Doctor's face. "That wouldn't be this invitation, by any chance?"

"It most probably is," the Doctor replied, nodding. "I know I have no right to ask, especially after the way I treated you last night, but…" He left the question hanging in the air.

Evelyn seemed unimpressed. "And I suppose this is the bit where I hand over the invitation and say 'Off you go, then. Have a good time.'" The Doctor said nothing, as Evelyn turned the envelope over in her hands. "You really think I'm that shallow?"

"No, Evelyn. Never shallow," the Doctor replied. "Kind and understanding, but never shallow."

At this, she sighed, and handed over the invite. "Well, I suppose Iris did do you a favour, getting you invited in the first place." She shooed him away good-naturedly. "Go on, before I change my mind."

The Doctor stepped forward and kissed Evelyn's hand in thanks. "I promise, I will explain all of this – it just may take more time than usual."

She watched him go and laughed. "More time than usual? Ha, that'll be a first."

At about the same time as the Doctor was making his apologies to Evelyn, Mr Smith was in the hotel lobby, puzzling over recent events. It was clear that his travelling bag had been switched for an identical one, but had no idea of whose bag he now held. Weighing up the possible options, Smith had decided that the only course of action was to find a seat in the hotel lobby from where he could observe the reception desk.

If the tag on his own luggage had been switched, then it seemed reasonable to assume that the same had been done to other identical bags. How many, he could not be certain of. But the luggage tag held Mr Smith's details – those he had elected to impart, indicating that the tags could only have been exchanged at the safe behind the reception desk. So Mr Smith maintained his vigil, waiting for someone to claim their bag.

That was when a crazy woman, arms flailing wildly, had run up to the reception desk.

Smith waited until she had left before checking with the desk clerk on her identity and movements. Then he took the elevator back up to retrieve the bag in his own room – only to find someone waiting for him outside the door. "Mr Smith?"

"Yes," he replied, "but right at this moment I don't have time for idle chit-chat, so…" A hand fell upon his wrist as Smith went to open the door. The grip was firm, and not easily breakable without attracting undue attention.

Smith looked properly at the man for the first time. He was younger than Smith, with dark, spiky hair, but dressed in the same type of suit that Mr Smith favoured. "Do I know you?"

"We have a common interest," the man told him. "It might be in your interests to at least hear me out."

Smith briefly considered aiming a right hook to the man's chin, but thought better of it. Now that he thought of it, he recognised the man as the shadowy figure at the restaurant the evening before. Perhaps a few moments wouldn't hurt. And he already knew the crazy woman's destination. "All right. You have two minutes."

The man smiled, allowing Smith to enter his room, and followed him in. "I represent a third party who has an interest in your current activities. He wants to, how shall I say, cut a deal."

Mr Smith allowed himself a rare smile. "Assuming I know what you're talking about, I don't make deals – especially not with spotty amateurs like you. Besides, I have a work ethic which I always abide by."

"Which is?"

"I always keep my own counsel," Smith replied. "The less people involved, the better."

The man smiled. "Fair enough. But if you should change your mind…" He handed Smith a business card, before making his exit.

Once the door was closed, Smith read the wording on the card. 'We can offer better deals – whatever your business. Contact Mr Jones.'

Mr Jones walked down the corridor to the elevator, as a voice spoke into his mind. "You did well, but as I expected, Mr Smith is a stubborn man."

Mr Jones nodded, as he received further instructions.

Evelyn had decided to take afternoon tea in the summerhouse, which was a recent addition to the hotel. She was glad that some things, like tea being served in a china pot, were still in existence even in 2260. So, let the Doctor have his fun, she had decided. It made a nice change to be waited on, instead of battling power mad conspirators and the like. There was even chocolate cake on the menu.

Evelyn smiled at the young man who had just arrived, and had sat at a nearby table. He returned the smile. She couldn't recall having seen him in the hotel before now, but he seemed harmless enough. He'd be quite a catch for some young girl, Evelyn thought, as she took in his smart suit, and dark, spiky hair.

The air car ride to the Institute was thankfully short. The Doctor stepped out, travelling bag in hand, while Iris paid the fare. The Institute was certainly an impressive building, but there was no time to spend looking at the architecture, as the two friends hurried in.

Professor Zarchov was waiting for them. "Doctor, Evie. I thought you were never coming."

"Traffic," the Doctor explained. This always seemed to work as an excuse for lateness, and this was no exception. Zarchov ushered them through.

The main hall, when they reached it, was already filled with other guests. Most were from the previous evening's reception, but others were unknown. Probably friends or associates of the good professor. "I'm afraid I have to ask you to begin your presentation in a few minutes," he informed them. "My timetable is so full that I have to set everything to the exact second."

"I quite understand." The Doctor moved to a nearby table and unzipped the bag. Iris was beside him when he opened it – and abruptly closed it again. The Doctor's face was pale. "Iris, this is the wrong bag!"

"What?" She pulled open the bag herself, and stared. "But that's the one I was given. What the 'eck are these?" She pulled out one of the folders inside, the Doctor shielding the bag's contents from general view. "This is one of them Government dossier things, isn't it?"

"Yes, and more besides." The Doctor quickly thumbed through similar folders, his eyes alighting on one in particular. "Well, well, well. Look at the name on this one, Iris."

She did so, and caught her breath. "But that's…"

"Exactly." The Doctor's face was grim. "Iris, I rather think we've been taken for a ride."

"All right, nobody move!" A worried hush fell over the room as everyone looked up. From the upper balcony, Mr Smith was pointing a gun at Iris and the Doctor. He was also holding a similar looking travel bag.

The Doctor moved across to Zarchov, who looked as though he'd seen a ghost. "Friend of yours?" he asked quietly.

"Not exactly," the professor replied. "You could say our paths have crossed."

"I thought that might have been the case."

Mr Smith impatiently waved his gun at the Doctor. "Hand the bag over."

The Doctor shook his head. "I'm not sure I can do that."

"Don't be smart with me," Mr Smith demanded.

"I'm not, I promise you," the Doctor said. "But if we're down here, and you're up there, how do I pass the bag to you?"

Mr Smith was about to reply, when he realised what the Doctor meant. There was no physical way that the bag could be passed up to him. "Hmm, you do have a point. So what do you suggest?"

"Well, if I'm not mistaken," the Doctor replied, "you seem to have a similar bag. Suppose we do a simple trade. That way no one gets hurt, and we can both go on our way."

Smith nodded. "That makes sense. Okay, you come up here with that bag. Then it's just the two of us."

"Agreed." The Doctor turned to the crowded room. "Nobody make any sudden moves. We all want to get out of this alive, so let's just do as the gentleman says." Nobody disagreed. "All right," he called. "I'm coming up."

"Nobody move!" A group of people moved away from the main door, as Mr Jones stepped forward, a travel bag in one hand, and a gun in the other. "Well, isn't this nice and cosy?"

"Oh, no." Iris stared at the young man. "It can't be."

"You again!" Smith called from the balcony. "Don't you ever give up?"

Jones looked up in surprise, then back to the Doctor. "What's going on here?"

"You tell me," he replied. "I haven't the faintest idea."

Iris tugged urgently at the Doctor's sleeve. "Doctor, that's Andy."

"Andy?" Then he remembered. "_Your_ Andy?"

She nodded. "I couldn't mistake that spiky hair. But this… this isn't like him at all."

"He must be under some sort of mind control," the Doctor whispered. "That would explain why you never heard from him again." He turned back to the young man. "It's Andy, isn't it?"

There was a brief flicker of recognition, but nothing more. "My name is Jones, and I think you have something of interest in that travel bag, Doctor."

"No, I don't think so," the Doctor told him. "But how did you know my name? I'm sure we've never met before."

"And what makes you so sure you want the Doctor's bag, Andy luv?" Iris asked. "Why not his?" She indicated Smith.

Mr Jones saw the bag Mr Smith held – then looked back to the Doctor, confused. "What's going on?"

"You tell me – Andy."

The Doctor's smile was innocent enough, but the young man could feel the eyes bore into him. Try as he might, he could not look away. What was going on? And who was he? He was Mr Jones. No, he was Andy. No, he… "I… Iris?"

"Yes luvvy, it's me," he heard her answer. "You were going to meet me, remember?"

Yes, yes he did remember. But why was everything so strange in his mind? He couldn't think straight. Then he heard the Doctor's voice. "Let your mind relax, Andy. Let it be freed from the constraints placed around it. Be yourself." Yes, the Doctor was right.

"No!" Another voice invaded his brain. "I have not finished with you yet. You have one more task to perform."

"One more task," Andy mumbled. "No, I can't."

"You must!"

"I…" Andy's mind was in turmoil. He so wanted to be free. But he had to complete this one final task. "I… must obey."

"No, Andy." The Doctor's voice again. "This isn't you. Find the real you."

Andy spun round, his eyes wild, the gun raised. "Leave me alone! Get out of my mind!" His finger pulled on the trigger.

"Andy, no!"

The gun fired…

The guests shrank back, as Andy collapsed to the floor in a dead faint. With the immediate danger passed, Iris quickly rushed to the boy's aid. Beside them, Professor Zarchov lay on the floor, the bullet from Andy's gun having imbedded itself in his shoulder. The Doctor gave him a brief examination. "You'll live, Professor," he concluded. "Assuming you have no other skeletons in your cupboard."

"I'm not sure I understand, Doctor," the professor gasped.

"Oh, I think you do." The Doctor's tone was dismissive. He looked up at the man still on the Upper Balcony. "I assume you and the professor have met before?"

"Something like that," he replied. "My name's Smith. I'm a Government agent. I was assigned to track down several people, all with a connection to the Furnham Institute. I didn't know that Zarchov was the man I was after, though."

"That's the trouble with Government agencies," the Doctor sighed. "No one ever gets the complete picture. Probably simpler that way."

"He is lying," Zarchov protested. "I do not know that man."

"But you admitted to recognising him earlier," the Doctor pointed out. "You said your paths had crossed before." Zarchov said nothing, trapped in his own words. "Tell me, Mr Smith, how did you know Professor Zarchov previously?"

"Through alleged money laundering," Smith replied. "When he was a fully fledged Doctor, Zarchov was accused of skimming profits from his medical practice into his own pocket. That's how he made his fortune."

"But he was never convicted?"

Smith shrugged. "Not enough evidence. It was all circumstantial, so the case was dropped."

"So, what's brought you here today?" the Doctor asked. "You said you weren't sure it was Zarchov you were after."

"That's the odd thing about this," Mr Smith replied. "I was told I had one more person to locate, but not who it was. Just that I would supposedly find out today. To be honest, I only came here to retrieve some important documents." He nodded to the travel bag the Doctor had opened.

The Doctor nodded, understanding. "Like a bringing together of all the main players." He turned to Iris. "You said that Andy knew there was something bad about to happen, but didn't know what. While our Mr Smith was sent on something of a wild goose chase, with no idea of whom he was after."

"It's an odd one, that's for sure." Iris was tending to Andy as best as she could, but she had followed the whole conversation. "But there must be some sort of connection."

The Doctor paced the floor, frustrated. "It's as if we've all been brought here for someone else's benefit."

"Well done, Doctor. So you finally worked it out at last."

Everyone turned, the Doctor recognising that voice. "Oh no. Not you!"

"I'm afraid so." Standing inside the hall was a bearded man dressed in black. In one hand was a weapon the Doctor recognised all too well. And a Tissue Compression Eliminator was trained on Evelyn, who held the remaining travel bag. "Well, this is quite a gathering," the Master noted.

"And just what are you doing here?" The Doctor realised the answer before he had finished asking the question. "You arranged this. The whole thing."

The Master nodded. "From the reception through to today's events. It was all very simple."

The Doctor let the Master continue. He had no wish to endanger Evelyn's life, and there might be something worth learning from the Master's ravings. "You see, for the past few weeks I've been the Manager of the Galactic Hotel. I regret the former manager met with an unfortunate accident." He looked down at the fallen Andy. "The boy proved to be a useful asset, once he was under my control."

The Doctor nodded. "Using him to get to the Professor?"

"Under my mental guidance, he would have persuaded the Professor to part with the information I needed." The Master smiled evily. "With the right tutoring, he could be very persuasive. A pity you managed to break through his conditioning, Doctor."

"It was either that, or let his mind be broken." The Doctor looked down at Andy. "At least he's free from your influence."

Iris glared up at the Master, steel in her eyes. "You did this to my poor Andy? You must be sick!"

"Watch your tongue, or you'll get the same," the Master warned, as he told Evelyn to drop the travel bag, while placing his arm around her neck. "Besides, I'm sure the Doctor has no wish to see any harm come to this fair lady."

"Thanks for the compliment," Evelyn muttered.

Iris would not be placated. "Why did you 'ave to mess with this lad's head? He'd done nothing to you."

"True, but he began to piece together certain things," the Master explained. "He made the connection with the reception and this Institute. I could have eliminated him, but instead I gave him a new identity."

"Returning as the mysterious Mr Jones," the Doctor guessed.

"Quite so, Doctor." The other guests began milling around in mild panic, distracting the Master. "Stay where you are, all of you. Or you will suffer." They all froze.

The Doctor raised his hands in an effort to calm the situation. "All right, Master. You've succeeded in bringing us all here. But, for what? I can't imagine what information Professor Zarchov could offer in your usual plans for universal domination."

"I can guess." Zarchov had pulled himself to his feet. "He's after the virus."

"What virus?" Then the Doctor realised. "Of course. The Scarg virus."

The Master smiled. "For every cure, there is a virus. And once I have its formula in my possession, I shall add numerous manufacturing agents that will enable the virus to spread across the known cosmos."

"The formula is kept here at the Institute," Zarchov explained. "And some of the guests here are my fellow scientists. Between them, they discovered the cure for the Scarg virus. I only provided the means for the much needed research."

"And today was intended as a celebration for all that hard work." The Doctor shook his head. That was par for the course with philanthropists like Zarchov - happy to take the credit for other people's efforts.

He turned back to the Master. "And how the mighty are fallen. Not so long ago, you were dealing in Thunderbolt missiles, and the Pharos project. Now, you've lowered your ambitions to scrabbling around with a virus."

"But it will be a most effective virus," the Master explained. "Once the peoples of the Universe have been incapacitated by a lethal variant of the common cold, I shall take my rightful place among them as their ruler and benefactor."

"He can't be serious," Evelyn protested.

"I'm afraid he is," the Doctor told her. "Think about it. The majority of planets in the known universe would have never experienced the common cold, and would have little or no resistance. Imagine what would happen if the Scarg virus were released. Powerful empires would become weak and lethargic, unable to defend themselves against possible invasion." The Doctor regarded the Master in a new light. "The Master's ultimate goal is still the same. He's just scaled down the means necessary to achieve it."

The Doctor looked around at the invited guests to the Institute – all unsure of what was happening, but clearly terrified by the dramatic turn of events. "There are innocent people here," he reminded the Master. "They have no part in your schemes. Let them go."

"I could do that," the Master agreed. "But I so rarely have the chance to play to an audience, Doctor. And it is only right that they should be the first to see the culmination of my plans."

She was knelt down beside Andy, stroking his head, willing him to wake up. To give her some sign of recognition. But at the same time, Iris Wildthyme glared at the Master with barely disguised hatred. She had heard stories of his exploits, but to have seen the results of his handiwork filled her with an all-consuming desire for revenge. This had now become personal, and the gloves were off. When the chance came, however slight, Iris was determined to make the Master pay.

From the Upper Balcony, Mr Smith listened to this exchange of words with morbid interest. Since the arrival of this Master person, Smith began to appreciate that he was a small part of something much bigger. If only he could turn that to his advantage. Then he saw her - the woman the Master was holding as a hostage was trying to attract his attention.

Evelyn knew better than to struggle against the Master's vice-like grip. The young man she knew as Mr Jones had brought her to him. And she had never before met the Master, and so had thought nothing of it. Not until the moment when he had threatened her life. And now she was here at the Furnham Institute, with the Doctor helpless to intervene.

She had seen the man perched on the Upper Balcony when they had arrived. And she saw him now, almost as helpless as the Doctor. And she saw the travelling bag next to him. Evelyn stared up at him, desperate to catch his eye without drawing attention to herself. When she saw him nod, she looked from him to the bag, and back again. Twice more she did this before she got his understanding.

Evelyn felt the abrupt pull of the Master's arm against her throat. "Keep still, Miss Smythe."

"Oh, I've had enough of this," she bellowed, and stamped her foot down hard onto his. There was a gasp of pain, and immediately the Master's grip slackened, as Evelyn flung herself forward, out of his reach. "Now!"

In one fluid movement, Mr Smith tossed the travelling bag down from the balcony onto the form of the Master. Thrown to the floor by the weight of the bag, any attempt by the Master to regain his footing was quickly foiled by Iris, who threw herself on top of him with a vengeful scream, scratching and clawing at his face.

Under normal circumstances, the Master would have been the stronger opponent. But Iris' fury against him had given her the greater strength and advantage. Each time he made to push her aside, she threw herself back at him with renewed vigour. To the Master, it was like fighting a wild banshee. "Let go of me, you stupid harridan," he shouted.

"Not flamin' likely!" Iris screamed. "Not until I've 'ad a piece of you first!"

The Doctor was helping Evelyn to her feet. "Shouldn't we think about pulling them apart?" she asked.

"We could _think_ about it, but I don't think it would be advisable to try," the Doctor replied. "The mood Iris is in, I wouldn't give much for the Master's chances."

The two of them were still sprawled on the floor. Iris' scratches had turned into full-blown punches, each one winding the Master at every turn. Gradually though, he began to gain the upper hand, pulling himself out of her reach. Her next two punches went wild, and he easily caught her wrists in his powerful hands. Now the Master had sufficient leverage to push Iris away until she was facing his lower body. "Give it up, you old hag," he said mockingly. "You are powerless against me."

"Don't be too sure, pal," said Iris, her eyes lighting up. "I said I'd have a piece of you, and I always keep my promises." She looked down. Directly in front of her face was a clear target.

The Master, realising her intention, struggled violently, but to no effect. Manipulating her arms, Iris had managed to entwine her own hands around the Master's wrists, holding them in an iron grip. He glared at her, helpless in her grasp, but still defiant. "You wouldn't dare!"

"Oh, wouldn't I, chuck?" It was as if the Master's last words of bravado were an open invitation. Iris opened her mouth wide, her teeth bared.

Evelyn winced at what happened next, as the Doctor mentally crossed his legs.

When the local police arrived, the Doctor was quick to advise them of just how dangerous the Master was. There was also the long drawn out process of taking statements from the rest of Zarchov's guests before they were free to leave. Above all else, the Doctor made sure to take possession of the Master's travel bag. "His TARDIS," he explained to the presiding officer.

There were only a handful of people left in the Institute by the time a security skimmer arrived to collect the Master, who was escorted to the skimmer in the company of two law enforcement officers. Still doubled up in obvious pain, it was unlikely that he would be willing to cause any trouble. As the sliding door closed on his sworn enemy, the Doctor could have sworn that the Master was speaking at least four octaves higher than usual.

Evelyn and Iris stood either side of the Doctor, as the skimmer sped off to the nearest maximum security prison. "So, that was the Master," Evelyn said. "He hardly seems worth worrying about."

"Aye," Iris agreed. "And over such a little thing."

Iris was now back to her old self, cheered by the welcome news that Andy would soon recover from his ordeal. She resolved to look after him once he was discharged from Hospital – it was the least she could do, she decided, after the lad had got into so much trouble.

Mr Smith had joined them. "So, this reception, and that business with the travel bags, was all a huge smokescreen for the Master to get his hands on the Scarg virus."

"Succinctly put, Mr Smith," the Doctor observed. "The Master wanted the Scarg virus for his own ends, but it seems he had no clear opportunity to pin down Professor Zarchov over its properties. So, he disguised himself as the manager of the Galactica Hotel, and used that position to arrange last night's reception."

Evelyn was still puzzled. "I can see how he would have used some hypnotic suggestion to convince Zarchov that the reception was his idea, but I still don't understand about the travel bags."

"That was the really clever part," the Doctor explained. "The Master needed to get us all in one place, so by switching the tags he ensured that each would follow the other to retrieve their own travel bags, as you did yourself, Mr Smith."

"But how come they were all the same design and colour?" Iris pressed.

"Who says they were?" The Doctor smiled. "Iris, what colour is your travel bag?"

She stared at him. "Blue, of course." She looked at the bag Mr Smith had picked up. "That's it there."

"And yet," the Doctor told them, "Andy came in with a brown one."

"Hold on," Mr Smith piped up. "My travel bag is green."

"While mine is red, just like the Master's. Except that your eyes perceived the colour as that of your own travel bag." The Doctor looked at their baffled faces. "Don't you see? It was another hypnotic suggestion by the Master. Whatever one of them was in your possession at any time, you still saw the same colour of your own travel bag."

"Okay," Mr Smith agreed. "I'll believe you. It's the only explanation that makes sense. But there's still the problem of Professor Zarchov." The professor was still receiving medical attention from a member of the ambulance crew.

The Doctor seemed genuinely puzzled. "Problem? I don't see any problem."

"Doctor, he's a known criminal."

"Technically, yes." The Doctor took Mr Smith to one side. "Look, perhaps we can find some common ground here…"

Evelyn and Iris found themselves alone together. With the earlier friction between them still fresh in their minds, neither was willing to be the first to break the ice. Not that Iris could stay silent for very long. "Erm… you all right, luvvy? No bones broken?"

"Oh, I'm tougher than I look," Evelyn replied. "But thanks for asking."

"My pleasure."

"I must say," Evelyn said after a moment, "I thought you were very brave, tackling the Master the way you did."

Iris shrugged. "He deserved it, after what he did to Andy."

"That poor boy." Evelyn's thoughts went out to the young man. "But I'm sure he'll be back on his feet before you know it."

"Aye, I s'pose so." Iris managed a smile of appreciation. "You're not so bad y'self, in a crisis."

Evelyn smiled back. "You just have to do the right thing at the right moment." She hesitated before asking the question that had been at the back of her mind. "I heard from the hotel staff that the Doctor's bed hadn't been slept in last night."

Iris eyed Evelyn suspiciously. "Meaning?"

"Well," Evelyn suggested, "from what I gather, you and he go back a long way, so…"

Iris sighed. "Nothing happened, Evelyn."

"Oh." Evelyn was both surprised and relieved. "But I thought he'd…"

"Oh, he stayed the night," Iris confirmed. "And spent the whole of that night on the sofa. The Doctor's never been a great one for alcohol, and one glass of wine was enough to send 'im off into dreamland." There was a regretful sigh. "Story of my life."

"I see." Evelyn gave Iris a sidelong glance. "Does he know that… nothing happened?"

"Well, I never told him outright, luvvy. I've got a reputation to maintain, after all."

Evelyn smiled. "Well, in that case, Iris, I won't breathe a word." She met Iris' stare. "It'll make a change for us to know something that the Doctor doesn't."

Iris gaped at her in shock and surprise. "Evelyn Smythe! You conniving little… y'know, this could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship."

The Doctor didn't like the way that Evelyn and Iris were staring at him. And the fact that they both appeared to be getting on like a house on fire. With an effort, he turned back to the task in hand. "Mr Smith, I don't deny that Professor Zarchov may have been the cause of some troubles in the past, but he's hardly a major threat to the national crime figures."

"That's as maybe, Doctor," Mr Smith agreed, "but…"

"And since those times," the Doctor went on, "it could be argued that he has more than made up for his previous misdemeanours by putting a substantial amount of money into finding a cure for the Scarg virus. In fact," he added, "it could be said that because of his generosity, Professor Zarchov has made a valued contribution to the well being of this community."

"So, what do you suggest?" Mr Smith protested. "That we let him go?"

"Well, as far as I can see," the Doctor pointed out, "he isn't actually wanted for any crime. Remember, it was the Master's machinations that brought you here in the first place. You and Zarchov were pawns in a game, just like the rest of us."

Try as he might, Mr Smith could find no fault in the Doctor's argument, nor raise any further objections. "You know, Doctor, you ought to try your luck in politics, if your current line of work ever dries up."

The Doctor quickly dismissed the idea. "I tried that once. Didn't like it."

Two days later, and the Doctor and Evelyn were ready to check out of the Galactica Hotel. After all the excitement, the Doctor was determined that they should extend their stay, and take full advantage of the facilities on offer. Iris had been preoccupied over Andy's state of health, and had spent most days and nights at the Hospital, until she was sure he would be all right.

"She may be a bit wayward," said the Doctor, "but underneath it all, Iris is a decent person."

"Oh, I don't deny it," Evelyn agreed. "In fact, we've been getting on rather well just lately."

"Yes, I noticed." Evelyn could feel the Doctor's eyes upon her. "I don't suppose she said anything, did she?"

"About what?"

"Well, you know." The Doctor couldn't seem to find the right words. "Anything I should, um, know about?"

Evelyn gave him a suspicious look. "Guilty conscience, Doctor?" They were at the front desk before the Doctor could form a suitable riposte. "Could we have our bill please, Maurice?"

Maurice smiled at them both. "The bill has already been settled – by Ms Wildthyme."

The Doctor and Evelyn shared a glance. "But, how…?"

"Oh, you didn't think I could let you pay, after all that's happened?" They turned to see Iris approaching, a beaming smile on her face, arms ready to embrace the two friends. "Didn't Maurice tell you?"

"Tell us what?" the Doctor warily asked. "Iris, what are you up to now?"

"Well, with the post of manager being left vacant," Iris began, "I thought I'd try me hand at running this place - until they get someone in on a permanent basis, of course."

There was a look of horror on the Doctor's face. "Iris, tell me you're joking. Running a hotel like this is a serious undertaking, and…"

"Oh, stop fussing, Doctor," Evelyn hushed him. "Iris is more than capable of looking after things. Honestly, you ought to learn to be more trusting."

"Trusting??" he spluttered. "Well, of all the…" The Doctor was becoming increasingly flustered.

The two women stared at him. "Do you know, I've never seen the Doctor go that red before, Iris."

"Maybe he's embarrassed about something." Iris turned to Evelyn and gave her a farewell hug. "Look after yourself, Evelyn," she said. "And make sure the Doctor doesn't get into any more trouble."

She gave the Doctor a knowing wink, at which he visibly paled. "And don't worry about the Galactica, Doctor. I'll not let you down."

"Good luck, Iris." Evelyn waited. "Come on, Doctor. Wish her well."

The Doctor knew when he was being steered into a corner, and backed down. "Of course I wish you well, Iris – just don't make any drastic changes. I've become rather attached to this place."

"I s'pose that's the nearest I'll get to undying praise from you, Doctor." She ushered them out into the cool morning air, where a skimmer was waiting for them. "Now, get off, both of you. I've got a hotel to run."

Inside the skimmer, Evelyn had a questioning look about her. The Doctor recognised that look. "All right, Evelyn. What's the matter?"

"I'm just a bit curious," she replied. "It's about those travel bags."

"Oh?"

"Well, the Master's bag was his TARDIS, Iris' contained her jewellery, Mr Smith got his Government papers back, and Andy's bag…"

"Was a decoy, with nothing in it," the Doctor finished for her. "So what's the problem?"

Evelyn looked at him directly. "Well, I still don't know what was in your travel bag. I don't suppose you'd care to enlighten me, Doctor?"

The Doctor was about to reply, until his attention was drawn elsewhere. "Well, I never noticed that before."

"Noticed what?"

"How well these skimmers are constructed," he answered. "A simple design, but very effective."

Evelyn knew what he was up to. "Doctor, you're changing the subject."

He stared back at her, his face a picture of innocence. "Am I?" And with that, the Doctor sat back with a contented grin on his face.

Iris gave the Doctor and Evelyn a final cheery wave as the skimmer moved off. Already she was toying with one or two ideas to improve the Galactica Hotel. Nothing too drastic, as the Doctor had said. Just some minor tweaks here and there.

She turned on her heel and marched back into the hotel. "Maurice," she called. "Break out the champagne, luvvy. I'm parched."


End file.
